


Siren

by midmorning_bomb



Series: Soft Peter [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Stiles Stilinski, F/M, M/M, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes Live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midmorning_bomb/pseuds/midmorning_bomb
Summary: In between bites, Stiles asks, “Dude, where did you learn to bake?”“It’s nothing, really. Just something I do to pass the time.” Derek raises an eyebrow and looks incredulously at his uncle. Peter absolutely does not bake to pass the time. Before the fire, Peter lazily insisted he’d burn water and had gourmet meals prepped and delivered weekly by a local chef. Peterafterthe fire, but before he had access to his funds, would pine around Derek’s loft, sighing heavily, until Derek gave in and either ordered out or put his own meagre skills in the kitchen to work for them both.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Soft Peter [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836985
Comments: 13
Kudos: 445





	Siren

“Oh my _god_ , Peter. What even is this.” Stiles is barely intelligible around the mouthful of apple and ginger tarte Tatin. He moans with delight, the dessert is amazing. Just like the chili and smoked cheddar bagels last week, and the rum babas the week before. He didn’t even know Peter could bake.

Derek looks faintly disgusted, but Stiles doesn’t care one iota when sweet and spicy tarte heaven is right before him. Anyway, Derek can’t be that grossed out, seeing as he’s digging into a third slice.

In between bites, Stiles asks, “Dude, where did you learn to bake?”

“It’s nothing, really. Just something I do to pass the time.” Derek raises an eyebrow and looks incredulously at his uncle. Peter absolutely does not bake to pass the time. Before the fire, Peter lazily insisted he’d burn water and had gourmet meals prepped and delivered weekly by a local chef. Peter _after_ the fire, but before he had access to his funds, would pine around Derek’s loft, sighing heavily, until Derek gave in and either ordered out or put his own meagre skills in the kitchen to work for them both. Stiles is too absorbed in inhaling the crumbs off his plate to notice the lie, though. Peter narrows his eyes back at his nephew, and there’s an implicit threat of no more baked goods if he doesn’t keep his (pun-intended) pie hole shut.

Peter hands him a second boxed up tarte “for the puppies” and gestures toward the door. Derek has no idea how Stiles can be this oblivious, but if it keeps ending up with him getting bribed with baked goods, well. That pear and chocolate upside down cake from a few weeks back was the best thing he’s ever put in his mouth.

After Derek leaves, Peter clears his throat and casually says, “If you’re not busy, you could stay for dinner.”

Stiles looks up, surprised, and Peter quickly adds, “I’m making a clementine and chocolate torte for dessert. I can hardly eat it by myself.”

“Dude. That sounds _amazing_.”

The very next day, Stiles decides to take up jogging, in addition to his usual unenthusiastic, sporadic workout routine. Now that he has a Real Job™, the amount of time his butt stays on the sofa, or the chair in the kitchen nook-turned-office of his small two-bedroom home, has increased exponentially. Combine that with Peter’s apparently hidden, completely magical, penchant for plying him with baked goods, and Stiles has real concerns about developing a dad bod. Except he has no kids. And is single. So, so single.

He’d been working himself up to asking out the (kinda hot) owner of the new bakery downtown. But honestly, he hasn’t been back there since Peter started giving away goods for free. He should probably be concerned about that. What if Peter’s trying to lure him in like a siren, but with pastry? Like he’s fattening him up in some kind of Hansel and Gretel situation. Not that he’d mind Peter chewing on him a little. Lately he’s started thinking Peter looks cute in his apron, rather than hot in his v-neck. Or, in addition to hot in his v-neck. And that way to madness leads. Because Peter Hale is rich and sexy and older and dangerous and probably still a little insane. And so out of Stiles’ league, Stiles may as well be sitting in the cheap seats. Beyond the cheap seats. In the parking lot. Not even the stadium parking lot. Just a random parking lot. Ugh. Maybe he _should_ ask kinda hot bakery guy out.

He calls the only person he knows who will listen to him whine, actually have good advice, and answers their phone.

“Ericaaa. I’m in desperate need of solid, non-judgmental advice that will make me feel good without having to put any effort into making the situation better.”

“Is this about your crush on a certain local zombie or your increasingly luscious ass from all the baked goods he’s been feeding you?”

He should’ve called Kira. All her advice is coated in rainbow-covered sunshine, but at least it isn’t sarcastic.

“He’s out of my league and fuck you this luscious ass is from all my manly workouts.”

Erica sighs and he can hear her rolling her eyes. “Stiles. Do you think Peter is baking me the very best Mary Berry has to offer? No, you asshole, just you. Because he’s hot for you in a way I would judge more if it didn’t mean so much leftover cake at pack night.”

Stiles rolls off his sofa onto the floor, hand flopping about for the last Reese’s cup on the coffee table. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“When have I ever said anything to make you feel better?” Erica sounds genuinely baffled.

“You told me those plaid skinny jeans were great and I should buy them.”

“Oh Stiles. I told you that because the thought of you wearing them in public made me laugh. Look, if you don’t believe me about Uncle Creepy’s creepy boner for you, ask Derek. He’ll tell you the truth if you promise to leave the loft immediately after and never talk about his uncle’s dick again. I gotta go now. Speaking of boners, Boyd and I have a date with some whipped cream left from the chocolate and peanut butter pumpkin pie Peter totally didn’t make because he lusts for you.” Click.

“…Rude, but effective.” Stiles weighs going over to the loft against manning up and telling Peter about his (manly) feels. Both of those options sound terrible, and instead he grumbles and rolls over again on the floor.

He huffs out and a little pile of dust moves under the sofa. He should probably swiffer under there. He shuffles into the kitchen, does a quick pass around the living room, then looks over at his running shoes. He’s not sure how a pair of shoes by the door can look so judgmental, but it’s enough to get him changing into an old pair of gym shorts and a loose tanktop for a run. He slips on his workout headphones, turns up some Perturbator, and starts out at a light pace.

Fourteen minutes later, he’s got a stitch in his side and he’s pretty sure he can feel sweat running down his thighs. Cutting back on the baked goods isn’t an option he’s willing to consider, so he soldiers on. He gives himself a little pep talk: “Do it for the cinnamon buns, Stilinski.”

While he’s showering after the run-walk-crawl, Stiles reconsiders what Erica said. He’s not willing to just put himself out there, he had enough humiliation in high school to last a lifetime or three. But he doesn’t think she’d mess with him in a cruel way, so it’s time to gather evidence.

He casually mentions his love of key lime pie to Scott while Peter is in earshot. “Dude, I know. We killed it at that pie-eating contest in fifth grade. Well, until I swallowed wrong and had an asthma attack. That wasn’t cool.”

“No, Scotty, that was terrible. A+ pie though. _Best I ever had_.” Gauntlet sufficiently thrown, Stiles lets the subject shift to Scott’s preference for coconut cream and Kira waxing poetically about coconut cream versus pineapple custard buns.

When Stiles is at Peter’s apartment next to borrow a book, there are a dozen immaculate key lime cupcakes sitting on the kitchen island. _Okay, one down_ , he thinks.

Hanging out at Derek’s loft means watching what Derek wants to watch on his very nice, very large tv. For a guy that loves to read the classics, he has weird taste in television. Right now, he’s on a _Hell’s Kitchen_ kick, and they’re on season five when Stiles groans: “Why do these people _never_ just practice making beef wellington before they get on the show. They know they’ll have to make some delicious meaty, pastry goodness and… man, now I want some.”

“It’s not easy to make, Stiles. Now shut up, Ramsay’s about to tell them they both lose.”

Stiles stares hard at Derek. “You… have you already watched this so often you have it memorized?” The only response is a “shhhhhhh” and a hand pushing his face away.

Peter cooks dinner the following Sunday for Stiles and Derek while they’re looking into the death of a local hiker. They’re arguing whether or not dryad’s rot is actually a thing, when Peter sets down three beautiful, perfectly proportioned beef wellingtons. _Twice **could** be a coincidence_, Stiles muses, as he digs into the heartbreakingly delicious pastry.

They find out later the hiker did indeed have dryad’s rot, having earned the ire of the Meliae by wastefully cutting and burning several trees. Derek, Peter, and the Stilinskis meet with the dryads to set up some boundaries around the ash trees in the preserve, and also ask if they would, like, text or something next time, instead of murdering any moron tromping through the forest.

The sheriff and Derek head back to the station to figure out how to wrap up the hiker’s cause of death, while Peter drives Stiles back to his apartment, where the jeep is parked. They decide to stop for coffee, and on the way into the shop, nearly bump into Kinda Hot Bakery Guy. Stiles really needs to learn his name.

“My favourite customer! I haven’t seen you in a while. Don’t tell me you’ve found another bakery?” KHBG smiles at Stiles and steps forward, only for Peter to pull Stiles back against him.

“If you’ll excuse us.” Peter nearly drags Stiles into the coffee shop, leaving a confused KHBG standing on the sidewalk.

Stiles can’t help the wide grin spreading across his face. _Well, like dad says, three times is a pattern_.

He figures if he leaves this up to Peter, he’ll die fat-but-happy of old age before the man makes a move. It’s been months now since the baked treats started appearing.

“Soooo, Peter. How long were you planning on wooing me with baking before making a move?”

Peter goes still for a moment, before clearing his throat. “Sweetheart, I had an excellent plan that culminated in a grand declaration at Christmas.”

Stiles is both touched and deeply unimpressed. “It’s _August_. That’s glacial. That’s not a slow burn, that’s a no burn. What the hell.”

Peter pauses and looks away, looking more vulnerable than Stiles has seen him in a while. “I’m not… I wanted to be sure. I wanted you to be sure.”

“Peter, I’ve been listening to Erica tell me gross stories about what she does with all the leftover whipped cream for the past three months. I’m sure. I’m so sure. I want _us_ to have gross whipped cream stories.”

The default smarm is back in place on Peter’s face, “Well, darling. My apartment is across the street, and I still have leftover buttercream from the citrus chiffon cake. No use letting it go to waste.”

Stiles might not be stuck in the cheap seats after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [Siren](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKWG4zCALoE).
> 
> One more for the Soft Peter series while I get started on a handful of follow ups for [_Born to Lose_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474861?view_full_work=true).
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sarahfairwrites) | [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/sarahfairwrites/) if you want to chat/follow!


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